A Willow Cabin
by MissTempleton
Summary: The first in the Twelfth Night series - Jack's called to a suspicious death at a girls' school, and feels ill-equipped, so calls in some very elegant reinforcement. "Make me a willow cabin at thy gate" - Shakespeare, Twelfth Night
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Christabel and Marianne had been best friends almost since the day they arrived at Warley Grammar. For the most part, the mistresses saw this as a Good Thing – the pair complemented each other well. Christabel was conscientious and studious, while Marianne was lively and outgoing; so the one was more likely to complete her prep and the other more likely to see the light of day because of their association.

On this occasion, the light of day was the beautiful, dappled shade available in the Headmistress' Walk, a footpath leading from the gymnasium to the boarding house, which marched alongside the Head's garden for a short spell. Despite its proximity to the Centre of the Rule of Law at Warley, it was often a focus for illicit activities; but today's activities were no more illicit than the consumption of a packet of bubble gum. Their efforts to blow bubbles were proving largely unsuccessful, and Marianne was becoming frustrated.

"This is rubbish, Chris!" she exclaimed, taking the gum out of her mouth and wrapping it up in its paper, jettisoned it crossly into the shrubbery. Her friend caught her arm just too late, and the litter went flying.

"Oh, Merry, you mustn't!" she said worriedly. "The gardeners will find it, and then there'll be trouble and we won't be allowed here any more." She scrambled to her feet from their position lounging at the foot of a spreading oak, and picked her way carefully between the bushes, scanning the ground for the tell-tale sign of lurid pink paper. "Come and help me look."

Sulkily, Merry did as she was bid, and the pair peered into the green gloom of the lush bower. Pushing a little further in, Merry's eye was caught by a splash of colour.

"Chris, I think I see it!" She stepped further, skirting a robust hebe and pushing under the trailing boughs of a weeping willow. And stopped.

And screamed.

Chris rushed to her side, care for the plants forgotten. When she followed Merry's gaze, she too caught her breath. It was the history mistress, Miss Lambert; but the beautiful scarf she was wearing had been fastened far too tight. Her tongue protruded grotesquely, and her eyes were staring.

Turning her back, she caught Merry in a tight hug, to try to calm her, but the screaming went on, and on, and she realised she was doing it too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Sir?"

Senior Constable Collins knocked on Detective Inspector Jack Robinson's half open door.

"What is it, Collins?"

"Sir, we've had a report of a body – at Warley Grammar." Jack was on his feet instantly, grabbing coat and hat.

"Get the car, Collins." The young constable nodded and lifted up his helmet to leave.

"Wait a second," Jack hesitated. "Warley Grammar? As in Warley _Girls_ Grammar?" Collins met his eye.

"Y-yes sir."

Jack sighed.

"I'll be right there, Collins – but first, I need to call for reinforcements." Collins' eyes crinkled in understanding, and he hurried out of the door.

Jack went back into his office, closed the door and sat back at his desk, contemplating the telephone. Lifting the receiver, he dialled a St Kilda number.

"Hello, Mr Butler? Jack Robinson. Is Miss Fisher available by any chance? Thank you." He sat back in his chair, the receiver to his ear, and absently contemplated the corner of his desk. Odd how it seemed shinier than its opposite number. Being polished regularly with high quality fabrics would do that, he supposed. It definitely needed polishing more often, mind you.

"Miss Fisher. Good morning … again," he said in a low voice.

"Detective Inspector, how lovely to hear from you again, and so soon!" The Honourable Phryne Fisher's tones were dulcet. She certainly sounded well rested. A mid-morning nap after a little light exercise at dawn would do that to a girl, he supposed.

"Miss Fisher, I was wondering if you would mind very much helping me out with something?"

"Now, Jack, you know that I'm entirely at your beck and call – in fact, I think I can honestly say that helping you out is one of my favourite activities." The gurgle in her tone was unmistakable. "What would you like me to help you out of today?"

Jack snorted, and recovered himself. "With, Miss Fisher, _with_. We've just been notified of a death at Warley Grammar, and …."

She finished the sentence for him, "and given that it's an all-girls school, with all-female teaching staff and Aunt Prudence is on the Board of Governors, you need me to come and hold your hand?"

"Perhaps not literally, Miss Fisher – lovely though the offer is – but I would welcome your assistance, if you're free?"

"Happily, Jack, I'm just out the bath, so I can fling some clothes on and be ready in ten minutes. Can you collect me on the way?"

He agreed to do so, and put the phone down, attempting to dispel from his mind the image of Phryne Fisher just out of the bath; and then with a private smile, admitted to himself that the exercise was likely to be as fruitless as it was pointless. These days, having the enormous privilege of a life shared with Melbourne's most exceptional Lady Detective meant that such images were the backdrop to more or less his every waking moment (and quite a lot of his sleeping ones too). Pretending to the outside world that they were not, in fact, living in one another's pockets meant life was never dull, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

Cramming the trilby on his head, he strode out of City South Police Station and stepped into the car beside Collins.

"A detour, Collins," he announced. "We're picking up Miss Fisher on the way."

"Yes sir," grinned Collins, and let in the clutch.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

As they approached the school up the gravelled driveway, Phryne leaned forward to rest her arms on the back of the front seat, peering over Jack's shoulder.

"Terrifying place," she muttered in his ear. "How Jane stood it for all that time before she went to France beats me."

"I thought it was the library she mostly lived in?" he responded. "You can't deny they did well for her."

"No, I suppose not," Phryne was grudging. "But some of the stories she told me of the girls' behaviour were extraordinary. Money doesn't buy happiness and it definitely doesn't buy compassion, or even good manners, according to what I've heard."

As Collins drew up in front of the main building, the front door opened and a very tall, very thin woman dressed in funereal black emerged. As the car doors opened and disgorged its contents, her face took on an expression that suggested that instead of simply lemon juice, she'd had to take a hefty gulp of an unpleasant acid. Phryne's mind had a few seconds' fun coming up with suggestions; Piranha solution leapt particularly piscatorially to mind.

"Good afternoon, I am the Bursar of Warley, Miss Sheppard." Her mouth twisted into what Jack presumed what would, under happier circumstances and with a following wind, have been interpreted as a smile.

He removed his hat and proffered his hand. "Detective Inspector Jack Robinson." Turning to the others, he added, "Senior Constable Collins, and the Honourable Phryne Fisher, a private detective I have asked to assist specifically in this matter."

The piranha, no, he corrected himself, Bursar, nodded at Collins, and turned to Phryne.

"Miss … Fisher? Whose ward, Jane, we had under our care for such an – ahem – regrettably short space of time?"

Phryne smiled blandly.

"That's right, Miss Sheppard. Jane enjoyed the library here immensely." The tacit judgement of the rest of Jane's experience was waved around as a flag of precisely the same aggressive scarlet as Phryne's lipstick, and Jack hastened to move them all on.

"If we could perhaps see the body, Miss Sheppard?"

The Bursar nodded dismissively, and gestured to a nervous-looking woman in pastel shades, sensible shoes and considerable awe of Phryne.

"My assistant, Miss Flitt will show you the way." Her work apparently completed, she turned her back on them and returned to the main building.

"It's this way, Inspector … Miss Fisher …. Constable …" she twittered as she wobbled across the gravel to the lawns at one side of the building. Once they'd reached grass, it was easier going but apparently no less nerve-wracking for her. Phryne quickly took pity, and, matching her stride to the shorter woman's hesitant footsteps, engaging her in meaningless small talk about the state of the lawn, the state of the sky – anything but the state the school found itself in.

This worked so well that by the time they had arrived at the tree-lined path, Miss Flitt was almost able to communicate coherently, for which Jack was inwardly blessing Phryne wholeheartedly. Money might not be able to buy compassion, he reflected, but the two attributes were certainly not mutually exclusive, as his lover admirably demonstrated.

"It's … er … the body that is … er … under the willow, over there …." Miss Flitt's valour was weak, and she could do no more than stand at a sensitive distance and gesture.

Jack and Phryne stepped tentatively forward, brushing aside the branches of the tree. The ground around the body had clearly been disturbed in a struggle; moving round, they had the full view of the face.

"The poor woman," said Phryne quietly. "I've just realised, we didn't ask her name."

"No need," said Jack, in a whisper. He had reached above his head to grasp one of the gently arching branches of the willow and was clinging to it with one hand, the other spread across his face.

"It's Constance. Constance Lambert."

Phryne looked at him quizzically, and moved a little closer; the branches of the willow gave them an illusion of separation, and hint of privacy from Collins and Miss Flitt. Her question was a whisper.

"You knew her?"

He gave a twisted half-smile.

"Since school days. A good friend." His eyes met hers, blankly. "I think I was her first kiss. She was certainly mine."

Phryne looked at the body again, and instead of a case, saw a person – athletic build, well-cut clothing that bespoke a confident woman of independent means. Light brown, wavy hair, cut to fall short of her shoulders. Brown eyes, staring in death. And pale pink lips bare of lipstick, which had kissed Jack Robinson's.

She looked up at him again. "Jack, I'm sorry. D'you need a minute?"

His eyes warmed at hers. "No. But how like you to ask. Thank you," he said simply.

Funny how a "thank you" from Jack could make a person tingle all over.

He moved closer again, and loosened the scarf around the victim's neck.

"Looks like a spur-of-the-moment thing, do you think? Whoever did this had the murder weapon right to hand. No rigor yet, so it must have been this morning."

He sat back on his heels.

"Damned if I can understand who would want to murder Constance, though. Smart, kind – hard to imagine what her enemy would object to." He looked up at Phryne. "We're going to have to interview the staff, and whoever found the body."

They returned to Miss Flitt, who was wringing her hands nervously beside Collins.

"Collins, you're going to need to get some more men here to search the area – we want anything that might give a clue as to the killer's identity. The body needs to go to Dr MacMillan as soon as possible, anything she can give us on time of death will help. Miss Flitt," he turned to the woman, as the constable hurried away. "Who was it found the body? We need to speak to them first."

She quailed visibly.

"Oh, Inspector, I'm afraid that's impossible." He frowned, but she continued bravely. "It was two of the students who found her, and they both became quite hysterical. Understandable, of course. But it meant they had to be put in the Sanatorium and sedated for a little while. They'll be asleep."

As she said these words, there was the sound of voices raised in song in the distance.

Phryne raised her head and listened. " _Abide with me_ " she commented. "Chapel service, Miss Flitt?"

"Yes, Miss Fisher. The Head thought it best to inform the student body in the calmest way possible, and our house of prayer will be home to many a troubled heart this afternoon," she sighed, clasping her hands on her breast.

Jack looked faintly nauseated, but Phryne gave him a stern glance and in honeyed tones, agreed wholeheartedly with Miss Flitt.

"In that case, we should perhaps await the Head in her office?" Jack essayed. This plan was approved, and they made their way back to the main school building.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

It transpired that waiting _in_ the Head's office wasn't the approved M.O. for Warley. Instead, Jack and Phryne found themselves sitting on a hard bench in the corridor outside it.

"If this is meant to make me regret misbehaving, it's working," muttered Jack.

Phryne shot him a cheeky grin. "But Jack, you're so _good_ at misbehaving. You even know a song about it. And you misbehaved beautifully last night, as I recall …" She turned her knees towards him, and gently pressed them against his thigh, her eyes becoming unfocussed in recalling a fond memory.

" _Miss Fisher_ " he warned – but his words belied the light in his eyes, and hers laughed back at him as she stood to examine the photos on the wall behind them. It was the standard, whole-of-school photograph, serried ranks of uniformed young ladies looking as though butter wouldn't melt. The teachers were in the front row, and she scanned for an image of the victim.

"Is this Constance, Inspector?" He stood to look over her shoulder, and followed her pointing finger.

"Yes, that's her. Sitting next to the Bursar. Quite the contrast." He was silent for a moment, appreciating the chance to see his childhood friend in happier circumstances than his most recent experience. As they both scanned the photo, a rapid step was heard behind them, and they turned to see a grey-haired woman approach.

"Detective Inspector Robinson? Anne Mackay," she stretched out her hand and he found his own grasped in a firm shake. She turned to Phryne. "And Miss Fisher. Are you … assisting the police in some fashion?" She fought to keep the distaste from her tone, although Phryne felt the effort warranted a B-minus at best. The wretched woman made it sound as though Phryne's assistance was most likely to be as a suspect.

"Indeed, Miss Mackay," she confirmed. "The Inspector felt it might be advisable to have a woman on his team, given the nature of the interviews which will unfortunately have to take place. We have … worked together in the past." She gave a clipped smile. If Miss Mackay wanted professionals, that was what she would get. In spades, doubled and redoubled.

Jack glanced from one to the other and felt that intervention might be a good idea.

"Miss Mackay, I understand it was two of the students who found the body. I realise it will be disturbing for them, but I have to ask that we are allowed to interview them as soon as possible. Of course, you will wish to be present yourself, or have one of your staff in attendance."

The Head nodded briskly. "Marianne and Christabel are in the San, and I expect they will still be asleep for another hour or so – I asked that they be given a sedative."

"In the meantime," Jack asked diffidently, "could we perhaps ask one or two questions of the teaching staff? Beginning, of course, with yourself?"

"Ask away, Inspector, but I don't know anything. I came straight to my office after breakfast, and have been here ever since, until the news of Miss Lambert's death came to me."

"I was rather hoping to get something of an overview of Miss Lambert's recent past. Had she argued with anyone? Appeared worried about anything? Perhaps received something disturbing in the post?"

Miss Mackay considered, her head on one side. "No, nothing of the kind, Inspector. I realise you will have to ask these questions, but I believe you will get the same message from everyone on the teaching staff. Miss Lambert was well-liked, and got on well with almost everyone – and those with whom she was not on especially good terms were, shall we say, the more challenging members of my team."

"In other words, it wasn't Miss Lambert's fault if they didn't get on with her?" Phryne suggested.

"Indeed, Miss Fisher," the Head acknowledged. "I suppose … there isn't any chance that this could have been a dreadful accident?"

Jack grimaced. "We'll have a better idea once we've examined the scene thoroughly, Miss Mackay, but it looks highly unlikely. In the meantime, it would help enormously if we could have a list of the staff – teaching and non-teaching – so that we can get started on interviewing them."

The list was duly produced, and Jack groaned inwardly. A dozen teachers, and as many again cleaners, groundsmen, kitchen staff and so on. There wasn't the least chance of getting through all of these in one day.

"Miss Mackay, is there a telephone I can use for a moment?" She offered her own, and he placed a call to the morgue.

"Inspector Robinson here, is Dr MacMillan available? Thank you, I'll wait."

"Mac? Jack Robinson. Have you received the body from the Warley murder yet? Well, it should be with you soon. I know it will take a while to confirm cause of death, but the sooner you can give me your idea of _time_ of death, the better – we're in the world of timetables so we can find out a lot by asking the right questions. Yes. We'll be at the school, so if you could get someone to pass us the message? Thanks, Mac." He rang off.

Looking up at the Head, he said, "I don't want to waste your staff's valuable time by interviewing them twice, so I'll wait to hear back from Dr MacMillan before starting those interviews, but it would be helpful if we could get a feel for the layout of the building, entrances and exits and so on. Would you mind if we did a little exploring?"

"Of course, Inspector. The place should be more or less empty – I sent the girls back to their boarding house, and I expect the teaching staff will be in the staff room."

"If you could perhaps let them know we'd be grateful if they could remain on site for the moment, we will begin interviews as soon as we have word from the doctor."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Jack and Phryne took their leave and, by mutual consent, turned left out of the Head's office to walk slowly along the ground floor corridor. Stopping to stick their heads around doors, they located classrooms for various subjects, and a chemistry lab at the end of the corridor. Ignoring for the moment a door leading out of the building, they ascended a spiral stair to the first floor, where they found a south-facing room clearly dedicated to arts and crafts. Wandering back to the centre of the building, they heard music once again.

The chapel, it transpired, was built directly over the front hall, and although there was singing coming from it, this definitely wasn't the whole school. Jack and Phryne quietly edged closer to the open door, and saw a group of a dozen or so girls, with a short, bespectacled woman in front of them.

"Not bad, girls – Phoebe, glorious tone but we can afford a little less in "thy help cometh from the Lord" – the F sharp's a gift in your range, but we need to hear the altos who have the movement underneath there. You'll get your moment in the sun with the G in bar 25. Remember, this is all about blend. Right, from the top please – we'll be having a service for Miss Lambert in the morning and this needs to be right by then."

The group collected itself, and with a single, gentle intake of breath, began to sing the treble trio from Mendelssohn's _Elijah_.

 _Lift thine eyes, o lift thine eyes to the mountains whence cometh help._

Jack stood like a statue, and Phryne moved unconsciously closer to him. The sound was pure and clear.

As soon as it was over, they glanced at each other and moved just as quietly as they had come, away along the corridor and into an empty classroom. Jack took a handkerchief out of his pocket and passed it to Phryne; but instead of using it herself, she first took a corner to dab his eyes. He went to jerk his head away, but a gentle hand on his cheek made him look at her

"She was important to you, Jack – be proud of that, not ashamed. And I don't think I've ever heard that movement sung so perfectly in my life. You'd need to be made of stone not to be moved by it."

They took a moment to gaze out of the classroom window into the empty quadrangle below; then Jack was the first to move back to open the door.

"Come on, Miss Fisher – I'm more than ever determined to get to the bottom of this, so we've got a great deal of work to do."

Smiling approvingly, she passed out into the corridor, and they completed their circuit of the building back to the Head's office, and a message from Mac.

"Between ten and twelve, best approximation. Full report tomorrow morning, request your presence at my office to discuss. E. MacMillan"

Looking up from the message, Jack said, "Right, Miss Mackay – if we could commence the staff interviews, I would be grateful. Is there an office near the staff room we can use?"

"Indeed, Inspector – I will take you there myself." She raised an eyebrow. "You might find it helpful for me to explain their obligations to the teaching staff. Intelligent women don't always take direction easily." She led the way out of the office.

Jack's lips twitched as he caught Phryne's eye.

"I'm surprised to hear it, Miss Mackay. You don't think a reminder of their legal obligations would be enough to ensure the co-operation of such an audience? But then, I don't have the privilege of working with many truly intelligent women."

He muffled a cry of pain in response to a blow to his shin. And gave her a look of such wide-eyed innocence that he only avoided a blow to the other one because the Head had turned to ensure they were following.

Phryne gave a half-skip to catch up with her, leaving Jack to follow – two paces behind.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

As they approached the staff room, raised voices could be heard. The Head picked up speed, and walked ahead of Phryne into the room – as if by magic, the noise stopped the moment she entered.

"Ladies, this is Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, and the Honourable Phryne Fisher, private detective, who is assisting the Inspector on this matter. They have asked to interview each of you in turn. Can I ask, who is on tea duty? Miss Brown? Then Inspector, might I request that Miss Brown is seen first? We can then work out a timetable to ensure that everyone is where they need to be."

Jack agreed, and they were shown into a rather smaller room next door to the staff room, equipped with a large desk and half a dozen smaller ones.

"This is where we supervise detention, Inspector," she gave a wintry smile. "I hope it suits your purpose?"

They confirmed that it would be perfect, and arranging chairs around the larger desk, awaited the arrival of Miss Brown.

The interviews were tedious in the extreme. The predictability of a school day meant that there was little opportunity for anyone to be anywhere other than where they were supposed to be at any given moment. Miss Lambert had been seen by all at breakfast and morning prayers; she had then taught classes for the first two lessons, and been free from then on. She had not been seen at lunch, but as this meal was often staggered to fit around games times, this did not ring alarm bells with anyone.

When the last member of the staff room departed, Jack pushed back his chair and flung his pen down.

"Nothing. No-one in the wrong place at the wrong time, no-one unaccounted for, alibis generally provided by at least a dozen schoolgirls in every case."

Phryne tried to look on the bright side. "At least that means there's a whole lot of people we know can't have done it." She looked at her watch. "I wonder if those two girls have woken up yet?"

"Good point," he agreed, standing gratefully to stretch his legs. "Do you know how to get to the Sanatorium from here?"

"I can have a go," she said doubtfully. "Jane was always in the rudest of health, though, so it wasn't a place I ever had to go to."

As they descended to the ground floor again, though, their plans were thwarted by the voluble and agitated arrival of Mrs Stanley – Phryne's Aunt Prudence. Society hostess, charitable benefactor and governor of Warley.

"Phryne!" she exclaimed as she marched through the front door. "Whatever are you doing here? Oh, hello Inspector."

"Aunt Pru," Phryne smiled, leaning down to kiss her aunt's cheek. "The Inspector asked me to help out, in the absence of any lady officers on the force of Melbourne's finest. So, _noblesse oblige_ , here I am."

Jack's eyes narrowed. How anybody could _oblige_ with less _noblesse_ than Phryne Fisher unless the request was precisely what it suited her to do anyway, he couldn't imagine.

"Well, I don't see how you can possibly help, Phryne. It's obviously some dreadful man who's broken into the grounds and murdered that poor woman."

"Possible, but unlikely, Aunt Pru. To get to where the body was found you'd have had to march right through the school gates in broad daylight, up the drive, round the main building and past the playing fields. Without being seen. I defy any man to make it more than five yards from the front gate without being spotted by at least forty people, most of whom are hormonal teenagers who would rather gaze out of the window than at the blackboard." She smiled beatifically at Aunt P's horrified expression.

"Phryne, I don't know how you could say such a thing!" Aunt P was clearly feeling routed. "Inspector, I wish you luck. With my niece around, you're going to need it."

And with that, she stormed off in the direction of the Head's study.

"Tell me something else I don't know," muttered Jack in Phryne's ear. She stuck her tongue out, and sashayed out of the front door, happening to catch a fourth former who was almost certainly where she shouldn't be. Jack reflected that schoolgirl behaviour appeared to be catching, although the currently enrolled schoolgirl appeared to be demonstrating much better manners than Phryne's.

Directions to the San obtained by the simple process of promising not to tell anyone where Lily (the fourth former) had been, Phryne marched off, not even glancing to see whether the Detective Inspector was following. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he strolled after her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

The nurse confirmed that both girls were awake, but being kept in bed for the moment. On the strict understanding that they would be sure not to cause undue alarm, and to avoid at all costs upsetting them, Phryne and Jack were permitted to enter the dormitory unaccompanied; it was empty apart from the two beds by the window at the end.

The occupants, so far from appearing traumatised by their experience, were clearly now revelling in minor celebrity. The chance to stay in bed instead of going to lessons was also being taken as a significant benefit.

Before Phryne suspected them of being exactly the kind of heartless individuals who had made Jane's friend Margery's life such a misery, they sobered instantly when Jack asked them about Miss Lambert.

"It's awful. We were saying that the school without her is just going to be _deadly_. Oh."

Marianne realised a moment too late that her choice of words could have been more – or less - apt.

Phryne smiled.

"It's okay, Marianne, that happens a lot in situations like this. Trust me." Marianne smiled shamefacedly. "Could you just describe how you came to find her?"

The two girls exchanged glances, and Christabel spoke up.

"We'd been in the Headmistress' Walk for a little while, and we ... started looking for something in the shrubbery."

Phryne's smile quirked.

"Girls, it's okay. We don't need to know why you were there, just what you saw and when. No-one will know anything else. Just how illicit were your activities? Boys? Opium? Hard liquor?"

They both burst out into giggles.

"No, Miss!" Marianne this time. "My brother had sent me some of that bubble gum. We're not allowed gum – Matron says it pulls your teeth out one by one."

At this, they got the pleasure of one of Jack's new favourite things – the full-on Phryne grin.

"Matron is generally right about everything, so I would support her on sentiment, though if you don't want to be sentenced to cleaning the dunnies, I would avoid asking her to clarify the timescale for said extraction. So, when did you commence your experiment?"

Christabel this time. Jack pegged her immediately as the details person in the partnership.

"We went straight after lunch, so we would have been there by one-fifteen at the latest, I think. We tried for ages, and couldn't get any bubbles at all ..."

"It's an acquired skill, I find," commented Phryne nonchalantly. Jack give her a sideways, speculative glance.

"... and eventually, Merry chucked hers into the bushes. I said we'd have to find it or we wouldn't be allowed to go there any more, so we started looking. And found ..." her voice trailed off.

Jack thought it best not to let them dwell on the darkest part of their day.

"When you were trying the gum, did you see or hear anyone else?"

They both, to give them their due, thought hard before answering.

Then, in unison,

"No."

Christabel followed up.

"We were doing something we shouldn't, Miss Fisher. If we'd known there was someone in the Willow Cabin we would've run away."

"The willow cabin?" Phryne asked, intrigued.

"That's just what it's known as, Miss. People meet there sometimes. It's lovely. Well," she prevaricated, "it used to be."

"Just the girls?" asked Phryne mildly.

"No, Miss. Everyone. It was funny, actually – if you were there first, you could stay. If the teachers wanted the Willow Cabin and a third former was in there on her own, reading a book, they'd go away again."

Christabel smiled at them.

"There are some really horrid things about this place, but that's one of the nice ones."

"But don't the teachers have somewhere else to go?" asked Jack. "Did Miss Lambert not have her own place within the School?"

"Well, of course she did," said Merry. "She was the resident tutor in the boarding house, so she had a little flat there."

Jack and Phryne exchanged glances.

"In that case, I think that's our next stop. Girls, thank you," said Jack politely.

Phryne was, typically, less circumspect.

"You've both been marvellous. I think you definitely deserve a few days in bed, and if you need me to smuggle in a pack of cards, send word." With a knowing wink, she left two more worshippers behind her.

He closed the door behind them as they made their way down the steps from the San.

"Looking to start up a schoolgirl poker club, Miss Fisher?"

"Of course not, Jack." She glanced up at him. "Who needs poker when you can support a healthy champagne habit on knockout whist?"

They turned towards the boarding house, but were stopped in their tracks by Miss Sheppard.

"Miss Fisher, Detective Inspector – I didn't realise you were still here. You'll have to leave now, I'm afraid."

Jack's hackles were up instantly.

"Miss Sheppard, we're engaged in what is highly likely to be a murder investigation and we have questions that still need to be answered as soon as possible."

The Bursar was unmoved.

"Detective Inspector, I stand _in loco parentis_ for the young people in this school, and I cannot allow strangers to wander around the campus after dark."

This was slightly stretching the point – the sun was not yet below the horizon – but Jack decided to cave rather than make an early enemy of someone he needed as an ally.

"Very well, Miss Sheppard. Thank you for all your help today, and we will see you in the morning."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

The next day saw both Phryne and Jack sitting on the other side of Mac's desk In The Middle Of The Night and First Thing, respectively. So they were sitting next to each other when Mac dropped her bombshell.

"It wasn't the scarf that was used to strangle her. It was a thin, woven cord."

They both had the decency to be completely nonplussed.

Jack recovered first.

"But – that means – that it wasn't a spur-of-the-moment killing. We're talking premeditated murder?"

"Precisely, Inspector," said Mac.

"No other indicators, so it was definitely strangulation that killed her – but the weapon wasn't the scarf, that seems only to have been used to cover up or otherwise disguise the actual method. I understand from Hugh Collins that there were signs of a struggle at the locus?"

Jack nodded.

"So what you're looking for is someone who took your victim there, or met her there, specifically in order to kill her."

Phryne slumped back in her chair.

"It makes even less sense than it did before. People have arguments, but no-one we've spoken to has given us the slightest notion that anyone had a reason to want to kill Constance."

Jack turned to her.

"It just means that so far we've asked the wrong people the wrong questions. Let's go back to the school and start asking the right people the right ones. And get Collins to start questioning the grounds and kitchen staff. Maybe someone saw something."

He was first out of the door.

Phryne whispered, " _History_ " in response to Mac's raised eyebrows, and scampered after the angry policeman.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

This time, when they arrived at the school, there was no welcoming committee, and they made their way to the boarding house uninterrupted. There, however, they hit a snag. The school day having begun in earnest, the place was deserted.

And locked.

Jack's resistance lasted all of five seconds, and the lock on the front door only a little longer than that in the face of Phryne's skills.

They soon located the tutor's flat, but found the place almost clinically tidy. No diary, no letters, "for God's sake, not even any dirty laundry!" exclaimed Phryne in exasperation. A neat kitchenette with some eclectic ingredients in the cupboards suggested cosmopolitan tastes; and overflowing bookshelves supported the assumption wholeheartedly.

Jack picked up a couple. "Philosophy," he commented. "She was well on the way through John Stuart Mill but hadn't yet started Nietzsche."

Eventually they gave up, and disconsolately left the building. As they hovered in the garden outside, a senior student came hurrying out of a side door, having clearly just dressed for games.

She nodded to Jack and Phryne, and then hesitated. Phryne looked again.

"Wait, it's Margery, isn't it? Margery Johnson?" The girl smiled, clearly relieved to have been recognised.

"That's right – and you're Miss Fisher, Jane's guardian, aren't you? Jane was wonderful, I miss her so much. She was such a good friend to me."

Phryne smiled.

"So do we, Margery. When she comes back from France, we'll have to have you over for tea."

"That would be lovely, Miss. With Miss Lambert gone, there's not much to look forward to. Though I suppose she'd have been gone before long anyway."

Phryne looked up at her. "What do you mean?"

Margery looked at Jack.

"I'll tell you, but I've only got a few minutes to practise before my extra Greek lesson. Inspector, can you bowl?" Jack was a little taken aback.

"Cricket was never really my sport, but I suppose I could hurl a ball or two?"

"Fine, then. Come to the nets and I'll tell you while we play."

"Let me hold your coat, Jack," offered Phryne sweetly. He narrowed his eyes at her but gave her coat, hat and jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

"Ready," called Margery.

Jack gave her a gentle lob.

And ducked as the ball sizzled past his left ear.

"Perhaps a touch faster, Jack?" offered Phryne helpfully.

He glanced over his shoulder to see the ball disappearing for four runs across the other side of the pitch, and elected instead to pick another from the box.

With a little more pace, this time he at least managed to catch Margery's return, although he had to pretend his hand didn't sting.

Suppressing a giggle, Phryne turned her attention to the captain of the Second XI.

"So, Margery, what did you mean about Miss Lambert leaving?"

Margery neatly dispatched Jack's attempt at spin, generously tipping it so that with only an heroic leap he was able to stop it following its fellow to the boundary.

"She'd been seeing a man."

At this, both Jack and Phryne were giving her their full attention.

"Got a googly, Inspector?" asked Margery. Jack muttered, and went back for a run up.

"A man, Margery?" Phryne prompted. "Here? There aren't any, are there? Apart from perhaps the grounds staff, and I don't notice them being exactly in the Lady Chatterley league." She considered, and added under her breath, "Unfortunately."

"No, not here. She used to sneak out to see him during prep," said Margery, sending Jack's fastest-yet delivery straight into the net.

"How do you know all this?" asked Phryne.

"We all knew. All the sixth form. Good luck to her, we thought – why should anyone be buried here for the rest of their lives? She was using the same exit route we all did. There's a first floor window in house with a dodgy latch, and it's only a short drop to the shrubbery. To get back in, you just drag the bin across to the window."

Another six. Jack's shoulders were drooping.

"Just a couple more, Inspector," shouted Margery cheerfully.

"But how do you know it was a man?" asked Phryne.

"I saw him once." Margery's response to Jack's latest effort would have given silly mid-off a black eye.

"He walked her right back to the house. They had a kiss, I could see them in the light of the street lamp out in the road." She gave Phryne such a dazzling smile as, from one _femme fatale_ to another, demanded respect. One day, thought Phryne, Margery would be knocking those school bullies into a very different kind of shade.

"Miss Fisher, it was lovely. He kissed her hand afterwards and everything. Then she climbed back in through the window, and he moved the bin away."

"Do you know who this man is, Margery?"

Dispatching Jack's last, best, fastest ball for a six straight over the heads of the slips. Margery considered.

"I don't think I know his name, Miss – but I'm fairly sure he works at the bookshop down the road. Miss Lambert often had new books, and it was nothing to do with whether the post had arrived."

Jack looked at her with renewed respect, as he rolled down his sleeves and donned his jacket.

"For that, Miss Johnson, I will forgive you making a complete fool of me. As long as you both swear to secrecy about the dismal failure of your session in the nets, thanks to your woefully amateur bowler."

Margery smiled at him kindly.

"It's all right, Inspector. I'm sure you did your best."

Phryne's shoulders shook.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

They found the bookshop with little difficulty, and with only two staff, one female, had even less difficulty identifying Miss Lambert's man – of lanky build, with an untidy mop of dark hair, greying a little at the temples. Breaking the news, though, was more challenging.

Jack showed his badge and introduced himself.

"Excuse me, sir," the man looked at him enquiringly. "Do you know a lady by the name of Constance Lambert?"

From his alert expression, he clearly did, even before his words affirmed the fact.

"Is there somewhere we can have a quiet chat?"

"Yes, Inspector – through here." He led the way to a storeroom at the back of the shop. Phryne was offered the only chair, and the bookseller perched on an unopened box.

Jack said, "First, sir, could you tell us your name?"

The man's confusion was evident.

"Andrew Menzies, but please can I ask what this is about?"

Phryne took up the baton.

"Mr Menzies, my name is Phryne Fisher, and I'm assisting the Inspector in a case. I'm afraid there is some bad news about Miss Lambert." Watching him carefully, she said gently, "She was found dead at the school yesterday morning."

He looked at her in blank disbelief.

"Dead? She can't be. I saw her only a couple of days ago, and she was fine. What nonsense is this?"

Jack this time. "I'm afraid so, Mr Menzies. The fact is, she was murdered."

" _Murdered?_ " Menzies looked away and back at him. "I'm sorry, but I can't believe it."

"You and she were close, Mr Menzies – is that correct?" asked Phryne softly.

"Well … yes, we - we had an understanding … how did you know?" Clearly, the message was starting to sink in, and tears were building in the man's eyes.

"One of the older girls at the school saw you the other night." Phryne paused, looked at Jack. He took up the strain.

"Mr Menzies, we are trying to find out who did this, and I am very sorry, but we have to ask – do you know of anyone who could have had reason to want Constance dead?"

The man was clearly in a state of confusion, and could only shake his head. Jack persevered.

"Did she talk about anyone at the School? Anyone she might have argued with?"

"No ... no arguments. She was friendly with the music mistress – Lomax, is It? And I know she'd been having a lot of conversations about philosophy with the Bursar." His voice trailed away.

"I'm sorry ... I just can't believe it. How did it happen?"

Jack cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"She was strangled. And we think, by someone she knew and had gone to meet at a location in the grounds."

There was a silence.

"Will ... will there be a funeral?" he asked.

"Not immediately, but we can be sure to let you know once something is fixed."

"Thank you," he said quietly. "We hadn't told anyone, so ... I knew what those biddies at the school would say if they found out she'd been seeing me like that."

He choked, and Phryne's heart broke for him.

"Who would do something like that, Miss Fisher?"

She took his hand.

"We don't know, Andrew, but we are going to find out. And we will make sure that whoever did this doesn't get the chance to hurt anyone so lovely, and so innocent, ever again."

They left him in the storeroom, and walked out through the shop and into the street. Strolling along the pavement, both sets of hands firmly in both sets of pockets and a decent distance between their elbows, Phryne said quietly,

"Jack, I have never, ever wanted to be joined in the eyes of society, for which read, in the eyes of the law, with any man in my life. But if it meant that right now, you could put your arm round me and give me the biggest hug imaginable and the rest of society could just mind its own business, I would be heading off to find the first priest that would take us."

Without a moment's hesitation, he did just that.

Leaning down to whisper in her ear,

"If anyone asks, I'll give you a great alibi."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

As they walked back to the school in inconsiderately glorious sunshine, they debated next moves. They had a murder weapon to find, Collins having reported a nil return from the search of the Willow Cabin area, and as Jack pointed out, they had yet to interview Miss Flitt and the Bursar.

They decided to try the Bursar's office first, and found her in, and graciously prepared to undergo the indignity of a police interview. Flinging the window open to the sunshine, she sat herself behind her desk and gestured them both to the seats opposite.

"How can I help, Inspector?"

"Just a couple of questions at this stage, Miss Sheppard. Firstly, if you could clarify for us where you were from ten until twelve yesterday morning?"

"Straightforward. Here." She inclined her head.

"Thank you, and more generally - we are trying to understand who might have wished to kill Miss Lambert. Were you aware of any disagreements, arguments – anything of that kind?"

The Bursar gazed out of the open window, and suddenly Phryne was conscious of an overwhelming silence. There was no sound of footsteps in the corridors or on the gravel; Miss Flitt's typewriter temporarily held its peace, and even the shouts from the playing fields had a hiatus.

"Really, no, Inspector. She was a great teacher and a lovely woman." Her gaze turned to encompass them both.

"It's quite simply incomprehensible."

Phryne's mouth twisted in a wry agreement, but her rejoinder was robust.

"I believe you've an interest in philosophy, Miss Sheppard." _That_ got a response. The Bursar's head snapped from her preferred view (the Inspector – Phryne couldn't blame her) to skewer the interloper.

"That's … correct. I took my degree in the subject." She was trying quite hard not to sneer – but less hard than the Head had done, so only achieved a C from Phryne.

"Was that an interest Miss Lambert shared?" asked Phryne innocently. "After all, it's not on the curriculum here, and I can't imagine the staff has much leisure to pursue their intellectual interests during term time?"

"On the contrary, Miss Fisher," the Bursar snapped, "we have always been in the habit of encouraging the staff to continue their own studies while supporting the students; we find it a wonderful way to create an atmosphere of vibrant learning."

"My goodness, Miss Sheppard!" exclaimed Phryne, in awestruck tones. "I had no idea how close you were to the learning process. I had imagined the Bursar's job was all about the dull figures and making ends meet."

"Oh no, Miss Fisher," came the reply in tones so patronising Jack had to suppress a wince. "I'm sure there are such people in my profession, but we have always been fortunate to be a close-knit team at Warley."

Having little appetite for refereeing a verbal sparring match of which there could be no winner (Phryne because her manners would not permit her to resort to outright rudeness, Miss Sheppard because – well – Phryne), Jack rose to his feet.

"Thank you, Miss Sheppard. Will we be able to have a word with Miss Flitt at some point?"

"Of course, Inspector. Although if you wouldn't mind giving us half an hour? We are trying to write to all of the parents to explain what's happened, so that they don't hear it on the grapevine first, and Miss Flitt is still doing the last few letters."

"That won't be a problem. Miss Fisher?" The door was firmly opened and Miss Fisher firmly indicated to exit through it. Which she did, and paused on the other side as Jack shut the door.

"It's going to take more than half an hour for Miss Flitt to do those letters," she whispered.

Jack looked round. The reason the typewriter had fallen silent was because the typist was singularly absent.

"She _could_ just have gone to make a cup of tea?" said Phryne doubtfully. They went to the outer office door and stuck their heads around it, Jack left, Phryne right. The corridor was empty. They turned towards each other.

"You go that way, I'll meet you at the chapel," said Jack. She nodded, and as soon as he turned his back, pulled out her gun. Quickly checking every door, she made her way along to the end of the building and up the spiral stair. Reaching the top, she looked along the corridor and saw Jack working his way back along the building. Fruitlessly, the pair met outside the door to the chapel. His eye dropped to her hand, and he raised his eyebrows.

"Jumping to conclusions, Miss Fisher?" With a shrug, she tucked the gun back into her purse, and they climbed the stairs to the chapel – also empty.

Apparently.

" _Psssst!_ "

Their glances met, and then searched the beautiful chapel for what was clearly either a snake or a very nervous assistant. As they walked up the central aisle, a trembling head popped up from under the pews at the back of the chapel.

Not a snake, then.

" _Miss Fisher!_ " It was indeed Miss Flitt. "Miss Fisher, I need to talk to you! It's all wrong! She …"

The rest of what the woman planned to say was, unfortunately, lost in the disturbance of a large and slightly garish religious icon, which had been suspended from the balcony above the pews, falling on her head.

"Jack, the stairs! Quick!" Phryne rushed to the stricken woman, while Jack turned tail and dashed out of the chapel to seek out the spiral stairs leading up to the balcony.

He made it to the stairwell just in time to see a figure disappearing down to the ground floor.

Dressed in dignified black.

Jack threw one leg over the bannister and dignity to the winds – sliding down to arrive at the foot of the stairs at exactly the same moment as Miss Sheppard.

"I think you'd better stop there, Bursar," he said, recovering his poise with remarkable ease.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

Phryne straightened up and pulled the sheet more closely around Miss Flitt's shoulders. The bruising on her forehead was severe, but the concussion wasn't overly serious.

Smiling at the nurse who was replacing the cold compress on the patient's forehead, she left the dormitory and joined Jack on the stairs of the San.

Taking his arm, she turned towards the green glade of the Headmistress' Walk.

"Isn't it always the same, Jack? Love and money, one or other."

He nodded. "Constance thought that she and Miss Sheppard were just having interesting discussions about philosophy in the Willow Cabin; the Bursar, on the other hand, was falling in love."

"When she realised that Constance was walking out with Andrew Menzies, she lost all reason," sighed Phryne. "Better that Constance die, than live as an inconstant lover."

"They'd been re-hanging lots of the school photographs in the corridor, so there was plenty of picture cord lying around – easy enough for Miss Sheppard to pocket some and take it with her to their next meeting, in Constance's free lesson period," remarked Jack. "The trouble was that Miss Flitt knew the Bursar had lied to us, because her window was open too when we did our interview; she'd been typing, but stopped and heard every word Sheppard said. She knew exactly when the Bursar had left her office, and hearing her lie about it made poor Miss Flitt realise what must have happened – and as soon as she realised Flitt had – well, flitted – Sheppard realised she had to be silenced."

They'd reached the willow tree, and, glancing back at Jack in question, Phryne passed between the branches into the Cabin. He followed her in, and lifted his eyes to watch the play of the sunlight on the leaves above their heads.

"You don't mind?" she asked quietly.

"No," he said. "Well," he amended, "I mind that I've lost a friend; I mind that Andrew Menzies has lost the girl he loved; but I don't mind that it happened here. I think there's too much good about this place to make one evil act cancel it out."

He turned to Phryne.

"So, Miss Fisher," Jack leaned his back against the trunk of the willow tree. "There's a question I really … really want to ask you," he said intently.

"Anything, Jack." She smiled. "Go right ahead, shock me."

He looked at her quizzically.

"Absolutely _anything_?"

She tipped her head back, considering.

"Ye-es?"

He noticed that the furrowed line had appeared between her eyebrows which was very rarely seen, thanks to the fact that it only appeared when she wasn't one hundred percent confident of what was going to happen next.

"You said, when we left poor old Andrew Menzies in the bookshop," the line, so far from disappearing, was becoming more pronounced, "that you'd be prepared to find a priest straight away if it meant I could hug you in public."

"I did," she agreed.

"Now, leaving aside the fact that neither you nor I is ever likely to trouble a priest for that kind of service – you because you've never taken a priest seriously in your life, and me because of my divorce," she graciously inclined her head to admit both points, "I am curious to know – what sort of promise _might_ you be prepared to make to a man, and … under what circumstances?"

The question had been confidently uttered, but the look in his eyes was all vulnerability.

She smiled. The line disappeared.

"It's a promise I never thought I'd make, Jack – and I still don't know for sure that I ever will. But if I do, it'll probably be when it's least expected. And you should know that Phryne Fisher _having sworn truth, ever will be true_."

The last words were a whisper against his lips.


End file.
